Pretty Girls Make Graves - 'The New Romance' (Matador)
4/5
By: Toby L
Whilst the Yeah Yeah Yeah's steal the plaudit for most extravagant, cutting and sensational revelation of the past 18 months, a (not-so-)quiet groove and mould continues to be sculpted by the outside indie-candidates - namely via the intricate, complex and delightful abrasion of Pretty Girls Make Graves.
It's not just a killer-name - but a killer-record too, for 'This Is Our Emergency is the dextrous and challenging Matador Record of '03. Every track resonates a sleazy, grinding-pop finesse, with twangy guitars, sultry female-vox and guillotine-like rhythm-parts chopping each piece into a complex, yet no less inviting, floor-filler.
And, not one instance proves below the esteemed elevation of tireless ingenuity, every track the danceable, articulate and rounded kinda gem that the Pixies or early-days Breeders would pen and send mouths dropping in collective awe. From the well-versed opener, 'Something Bigger, Something Brighter', there's an airy, breezy class and rock-rigidity to designate beard-stroking analysis, as much as a shape-throwing riot - especially as the combo rocket into such up-tempo jaunts as the spiralling riffage of 'The Grandmother Wolf' or sparky wiriness of 'All Medicated Geniuses' - as paranoid and lunatic-like as they come.
Also boasting 80's grandeur is the sweat-dripping 'Chemical, Chemical', a touch of Siouxsie & The Banshees winging its way behind the pouty yells and sassy swagger, whilst an instrumental swath of avant-garde noise ('7') serves as the necessary pretension-piece for the art-school yuppies. Culminating in a two-song climax of brimming opulence - the powerhouse dynamics of 'This Is Our Emergency', and steely slump of 'A Certain Cemetery' - PGMG prove themselves as icily intoxicating as they do urgently embracing.
Fast pace. Action. Hooks in abundance. Sex. Pretty Girls... have formed the basis of one of the US' greatest college-radio infesting set of newcomers since the classics that spawned them. Only, this time, and perhaps helpfully to the cult soon to form over their produce, they haven't been shoved in your face by some trendy, disposable 'it'-magazine. Yet, at least.
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